The Italian's Virgin Acquisition

‘Admit it,’ he demanded quietly, his voice preventing her from turning around and walking out. ‘You’re tempted.’

‘Of course I’m tempted,’ she shot at him. He was so sure of hi

mself. So sure of her. ‘I wouldn’t be human if I wasn’t tempted, but...’ She smoothed her already neat hair into place and noticed her hand was shaking. Turning it into a fist at her side, she raised her chin. ‘I don’t think I would like myself very much if I agreed to take your money to pretend to be something I’m not.’

Sebastiano blew out a beleaguered breath. ‘Dio, save me from martyrs.’

‘I’m not a martyr.’ She tilted her head back to glare up at him, wishing he wasn’t quite so tall. ‘I just have principles.’

He nodded and she felt that finally she’d penetrated his shallow exterior. It should have only taken the flick of her nail, given his lack of depth. Somehow finding out that he really wasn’t a man of substance, but a self-absorbed rat like the rest of his ilk, had seriously disappointed her.

‘Will that be all?’ she asked stiffly, a picture of five hundred thousand pounds flashing like a neon sign inside her head.

Sebastiano stuck his hands in his pockets, his thunderstruck expression priceless. ‘You’re really turning me down?’

‘Yes.’ She tilted her chin higher, wondering if she wasn’t being an idiot to do so. But then she thought about what she would have to do to get that money. Pretend to be this man’s girlfriend. There was no way she could carry that off. Not for a million pounds!

His eyes gleamed predator-like as he watched her, and Poppy had the distinct impression she was in danger. Run, her inner voiced urged. So she did, reversing out of his office with the pace of a teenager texting on a phone.

When she was safely on the other side of the door she blew out a breath and walked on unsteady legs towards the lift. Since Paula’s husband had indeed broken his ankle, she wasn’t in the office, and Poppy was glad she didn’t have to face the older woman’s knowing gaze. Various employees had already warned her that every woman who came into contact with Sebastiano fell in love with him, and Poppy didn’t want anyone to think that she had joined their adoring ranks when she hadn’t.

Taking her phone from her handbag, she decided to duck into the ladies powder room before heading downstairs and facing her colleagues. She was tempted to call Maryann—Lord knew she could use the pep talk, and Maryann had been there for her right from the start. Well, not the start, exactly. Maryann had found her and Simon after Poppy had made the mistake of trusting a man that she shouldn’t have. She had met him on the long train ride to London and somehow he had wheedled out of her that she was underage and that she and Simon were runaways with no place to stay.

At first Poppy had thought him a knight in shining armour. And he had been for two weeks. He’d been everything she could have asked for: complimenting her at every turn, giving them a place to stay and buying Simon little gifts. Then one night he’d come to her bedroom to extract payment for his many kindnesses, and when she’d refused he’d grown angry. He’d made her wake Simon and had turfed them both out into the wintry night, shouting that there was no one who would take her on anyway. Not with her ‘idiot brother’ in tow.

Finding out that he had stolen all her hard-earned savings was the lowest point and had shattered her trust altogether. Unable to go to the police for fear they would take Simon from her, they had been forced to slum it, sleeping in train stations and eating out of rubbish bins. Simon had only been seven at the time, to Poppy’s seventeen, and she had cried silent tears every night, praying to God that an angel would come down and rescue them.

And one had. Without batting an eyelid, Maryann had taken them in, fed them, clothed them and given them the kind of affection they had missed out on for most of their early life. Through Maryann Poppy had learned real kindness and respectability and that was what she wanted for herself. For Simon.

But Maryann, who had lost her dear husband many years earlier, was a proponent of true love and would most likely ask Poppy all sorts of probing questions about her boss’s offer that she’d rather not answer. Questions such as: Is this the sexy boss whose photo you showed me? The one with more women than hot dinners? The one who makes you blush every time his name is mentioned?

To which Poppy would have to answer yes, yes, and double yes.

She stared down at her phone and screwed up her nose. Probably best not to call her.

‘Miss Connolly, are you in here?’

Poppy gave a small yelp when her boss’s voice broke the heavy silence.

‘Maybe.’ She gripped her phone in both hands as if it were a sword, making no attempt to open the door.

‘Are you planning to come out any time soon?’

Poppy rolled her eyes. Was it too much to ask to have a moment of privacy? ‘Do I have to?’

‘I prefer having conversations face-to-face. So, yes.’

‘I thought we were done.’

‘No.’ He narrowed his eyes on her as she reluctantly opened the stall door. ‘It ends when you say yes.’

‘God, you’re relentless. You should have been a barrister.’

He leaned his perfect butt against the basin, a killer grin on his face, his muscular arms braced either side of his lean hips as if he was totally relaxed. Yeah, right.

‘If that was supposed to be an insult, it failed,’ he drawled. ‘I respect people who go after what they want and succeed.’

‘In other words, you’re pushy.’